A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffering, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music.
(Soren Kierkegaard)

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Untitled

The flash of thought false anticipation of the
impending pain and abandonment
burst in
from nowhere

You say
he's coming to tell you it's over

I don't even know
how to fight
don't know the origins of this warrior
the assailant
the perpetrator
the traitor

I don't want
merely
for you to desist in your lies
to go away or
disappear

Because you'll surface
again
breaking through my calm

So I command you
reveal yourself in all your
cancerous ugliness
I want you defeated
dead
never again able to
haunt me
infect me

I will not play host
to your parasitic
presence
sapping my confidence
in his declared love
for me
sucking away all
the goodness